


Place of Safety

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, The Vault (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24093331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The Doctor takes Bill to meet Missy, who seems intent on making her as uncomfortable as possible from within the confines of a containment field...
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor & Bill Potts, Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	Place of Safety

Bill stepped over the threshold of the vault, holding her breath as she did so. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, really, other than something vaguely horrifying; a monster perhaps, in some kind of elaborate cage; a creature of hellish proportions, or a robot of unusual complexity. What she wasn’t expecting was this: a large room with parquet flooring and tall, wide windows that let in sunlight – Bill briefly wondered how, since they were underground, then resolved never to ask; not enough time or interest to listen to the answer – and there, sat in the centre of the space, and playing Gnossienne No.1 on an enormous, sleek black grand piano, was a woman.

The woman looked, to Bill’s eyes at least, very normal. She was closer to the Doctor’s age than her own, with dark hair swept back from her face in a messy ponytail, spilling around her head like a crown. She was dressed in a somewhat outdated brown print with a white collar and cuffs, but there was something in the way that the strange woman’s posture altered subtly as they entered the vault that conveyed to Bill that commenting on her outfit would not be a good idea.

“But it’s…” Bill managed after a moment, looking around the space with confusion, trying to locate the true source of the Doctor’s anxieties, for it surely couldn’t be this normal-seeming woman. There was a large, ornately carved bed in one corner; a variety of chairs scattered across the floor; and a number of assorted gadgets strewn about that Bill, again, resolved not to ask about. Nothing threatening; nothing dangerous. “It’s just a woman.”

The stranger stopped playing and looked over at them, her expression both curious and oddly wolfish; if Bill’s words had affected her, she didn’t let it show. She looked Bill up and down with wide-eyed fascination, but there was something in her gaze that made Bill shiver; something unsettling and vaguely inhuman; as though the stranger were mentally undressing her and then imagining slicing her up like a joint of meat.

“God,” Bill let out a snort, trying to dismiss that thought, and the Doctor shifted uncomfortably at her side, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “The way you and Nardole have been carrying on, I thought you had some kind of monster in here, or something!”

“I do,” the Doctor said quietly, his tone oddly resigned as he spoke the words into being, and Bill looked at him sidelong, trying to establish whether he was joking or not. With a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he conveyed to her that he wasn’t, and she looked back at the strange woman with a sudden, swooping sense of unease. “Missy, Bill. Bill, Missy. The Other Last of the Time Lords.”

Such a grandiose title, and such a melodramatic way of introducing the strange woman. Perhaps the Doctor was playing some sort of joke; perhaps Missy was some sort of secondary guardian, keeping the real monster behind… well, she couldn’t see any more doors, but she supposed there could be some somewhere. Missy didn’t look especially threatening or dangerous, but as Bill looked between the two of them, appraising how Missy was staring at the Doctor with equal parts respect and fear, and how the Doctor appeared both ashamed and afraid. It was then that she understood that what he had said was not hyperbole, or high drama; this was not some kind of feint, or a ploy to mislead. Whoever this woman was – well, Bill supposed, she was the other-last-member-of-the-Doctor’s-race – she was dangerous, and she was in here for, presumably, a good reason.

“Wait a sec,” Bill thought aloud, attempting a jaunty tone to offset her anxiety about what this woman had done to deserve such a fate. “Why have you got a woman locked in a vault? Because even I think that’s weird, and I’ve been attacked by a puddle.”

Missy’s eyes sparkled, and she looked to be on the verge of speaking when the Doctor cut in over her, and she scowled in displeasure at the interruption.

“She’s going cold turkey from being bad.”

“Oh,” Bill said as sagely as possible, trying to look as though the vague statement were reassuring. It was not. ‘Bad’ encompassed a lot of things: crimes, sins, and minor infractions; the whole spectrum. “Which more accurately would involve…”

“Genocide,” Missy said sweetly, and Bill blinked hard as she realised that the strange Time Lord – Time Lady – was Scottish too. Maybe it was a thing; maybe all Time Lords came with varying Scottish burrs. Missy beamed, continuing in a sing-song voice that was entirely at odds with the words she was speaking: “Murder. Enslavement. Destruction. Devastation. Drama.”

Bill was not entirely sure the extent to which Missy was teasing her, and she looked to the Doctor for guidance. He plonked himself down in a nearby chair and folded his hands in his lap, looking at Missy with something akin to irritation, and something about the weary irritation in his gaze signalled to Bill that Missy was not joking. She felt a lurch of fear for the first time since stepping into the vault, which she tried to ignore; the Doctor wouldn’t let Missy hurt her, surely?

“Don’t sound so…” he began, glaring at her suddenly, and in response to the gesture, Missy’s own expression fell, becoming one of remorse. “Gleeful about it.”

“Sorry,” Missy mumbled, though her eyes were still sparkling with mischief. “But she did ask.”

“She did,” the Doctor acquiesced, his tone firm. “But you don’t need to regale her with such gleeful tales. Cold turkey, remember?”

“Oh, Thete,” Missy rolled her eyes. “What, do you want me to weep and wail and beat my bare breasts at the thought of my sins? Do you want me to fall to my knees and repent at the top of my lungs for all my past crimes? Because I can do those things, and you’ve never objected to my bare breasts or me falling to my knees before, but I didn’t think audiences were your thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Bill cut in, as the Doctor turned a violent shade of maroon, and Bill tried very, very hard not to picture what Missy had just alluded to. “What?”

“Oh, aye,” Missy continued with glee, clearly relishing the attention, and she tipped Bill a melodramatic wink. “The last time that funny wee laddie with the bald head turned up unexpectedly, it put him _right_ off. Things went south after that. Quite literally, in fact. I was in the mood to carry on, but he… well,” Missy leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, as though the Doctor wasn’t present: “You know what men are like when they have… equipment difficulties. All embarrassment and bruised egos.”

“I don’t,” Bill told her honestly, still fighting hard not to picture the Doctor and Missy _in flagrante_. “Men aren’t my thing.”

“Oh, well,” Missy giggled, and the sound was disconcerting. “Well done, Thete! You finally picked one who isn’t going to fall head over heels for you. Bless. I don’t have to kill this one! I’m not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed. Pleased, I suppose. Blood is _so_ hard to get out of these petticoats.”

“Wait, I…”

“Missy, that’s enough,” the Doctor said at last, his tone slightly strangled. “Don’t be…”

“What? Honest? I thought you wanted me to be honest,” Missy pouted theatrically. “I thought honesty was the best policy now; I thought I was supposed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to absolve me of my sins and render me pure and chaste and all that jazz. Well. Chaste-ish. As chaste as one can be when they’re getting-”

“ _Enough_ ,” the Doctor warned her, and Missy fell silent, biting her limp impishly. His entire head now appeared to be on fire; the flush of moments earlier growing all the more intense as Missy slowly and suggestively ran her tongue over her lips while making direct eye contact with him, and a faint groan escaped his lips. Bill fought the urge to shudder. “Missy…”

“Sorry,” Bill cut in, holding up her hands. “Wait a sec… sorry… if I’m reading this right… is she your _girlfriend_?”

“No,” the Doctor said at once, at the exact same moment that Missy said: “Yes.” The two of them glared at each other with vitriol, their eyes interlocked, and Bill felt faintly uncomfortable as they smouldered at each other non-verbally for several seconds.

“He’s just shy about it,” Missy drawled after a moment, without looking away from the Doctor. “He’s probably worried that you’ll think less of him if you know that he’s just a hapless beast of the flesh, like your species.”

“I am not…” the Doctor muttered furiously, breaking their eye contact and looking down at his boots with feigned interest. “She doesn’t need to know…”

“No, you’re right… I _really_ don’t need to know that,” Bill said with disgust, wrinkling her nose. The thought of the Doctor having sex with anyone was weird and slightly horrifying. Especially when his fellow participant was the one making lasciviously smutty comments about it, and to Bill’s face at that. The fact that Missy was, unavoidably, a very attractive woman somehow made it all the worse. “Thanks.”

“Oh, please,” Missy rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a prude, Bill! Women burned their bras for sexual liberation! Come on, right on, sister! We’re empowered, free-loving women, Bill. We can talk about sex.”

The way she purred the last word was distracting. Bill tried not to look at her.

“Missy…” the Doctor warned, still bright red. “Stop…”

“I just want your pretty little pet to know that you’re normal! Well, relatively speaking,” Missy grimaced at Bill. “Aside from, you know, the coat and the hair and the eyebrows. But you’re relatively human in that you enjoy a good, hard sha-”

“ _Missy_.”

“Boring,” Missy widened her eyes at Bill, shaking her head forlornly. “Isn’t he dull? I bet he’s never mentioned that he likes bending me over the piano and spanking me. I’m actually quite offended.”

Bill made a strangled noise of horror, which was accompanied by an immediate, lurid blush. The thought of the Doctor having sex? Appalling. Weird. Inappropriate. The thought of _Missy_ bending her over a piano? Well. That was something else entirely.

“ _Missy_ , so help me, I’m warning you…” the Doctor pleaded. “Shut-”

“So, before I sit down…” Bill said in a small voice, as the Doctor gave up and buried his face in his hands, apparently deciding that withdrawing from the conversation was the best course of action. _Heh, withdrawing_ , Bill’s brain supplied involuntarily, and she suppressed a shudder. “Can I just check… where’s safe to sit? Where have you not…”

“Fornicated?” Missy asked angelically, as Bill approached a nearby armchair with considerable trepidation. “Well, _that’s_ not a safe bet, not after last month’s escapades.”

“Right,” Bill nodded sagely, trying to pretend they were talking about something mundane like the weather and heading towards a dining table and suite of chairs in the corner of the vault, walking past the Doctor as she went, still paralysed by embarrassment.

“Also not a good choice,” Missy half-sang.

She changed direction, aiming for a nearby ottoman.

“Definitely a bad decision. That’s a particular favourite”

Bill raised her eyebrows, but edged warily towards a nearby side table, resolving to lean on it with care, and thus forgo sitting altogether.

Missy smirked widely. “We did something unspeakable on that only last week. One of the legs fell off as I… well, you get the idea. Put my back out something chronic, it did!”

Bill stopped and looked at Missy, appalled. “Is there _anywhere_ ,” she asked in horrified awe. “In this entire vault… that you haven’t… you know?”

“Urm,” Missy grimaced with aplomb as she pretended to ponder the question, although Bill sensed she already knew the answer and was merely dragging out her faux-consideration for dramatic effect. “There’s… urm… no, we… yeah… urm… no.”

“The doorway?” Bill asked hopefully.

“That’s out.”

“The door itself?”

“Also a no. The _bruises_ from that! Took me weeks to get my spine back to normal.”

“The windows?” Bill asked faintly.

“Look,” Missy sighed theatrically. “Just… stand where you are, alright? And try not to touch too much of the artificial oxygen, because it’s all recycled.”

**Author's Note:**

> The ending of this is based on a similar scene from the film 'The Other Woman.' Dialogue from The Lie of the Land and altered for my own ends.


End file.
